


a spring was breaking out

by deathlessaphrodite



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, these idiots are dumb and in love!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlessaphrodite/pseuds/deathlessaphrodite
Summary: The sun was rising icily over the mountains, and spreading anaemic light into the cold room - though it wouldn’t be cold for much longer, with Dorian loudly complaining while he built a fire in the grate.The night before, they’d gotten drunk on wine Dorian had stolen from the Inquisition’s cellars, an action which would soon get him banned from going anywhere near them, and fucked until Dorian had been giggly-tired and The Bull had made him go to sleep. Made love, that’s what Dorian had started saying. It hadn’t struck Bull as strange then, just another addition into Dorian’s arsenal of flowery language.





	1. a marvellous error

**_A spring was breaking / out in my heart. - Antonio Machado, tr. by Robert Bly, “Last Night, As I Was Sleeping,”_ **

 

Dorian awoke to Bull grunting as he tightened his leg brace; it was still so early the light from the sun was white and premature. It caught Bull’s eye-patch as he turned his head, in a maddening, spinning glint.

 

Upon seeing his lover awake, the Bull smiled and, lifting a hand to Dorian’s cheek, said, “‘Was trying not to wake you,”

 

Dorian put his hand over the Bull’s own, “It’s fine. I thought you weren’t leaving for another few days?” The Chargers were being sent to the Hissing Wastes, to deal with the Venatori there; the Inquisitor had been very grateful at their insistence on going (rather, Bull’s insistence), as she was trying to prepare for her future venture in dueling for Josephine’s hand, lessons which were weighing heavy on her.

 

“There’ve been Red Templar sightings, so we’re setting out a little early,”

 

He rubbed his thumb over Dorian’s cheek once more, covering the mole on the corner of his eye, and made to stand - Dorian reached out, both his hands around the Bull’s singularly large arm, and said, “Well, have a safe journey,” He took a deep breath, and then spoke again, “I love you, don’t get into any undue trouble,”

 

He thought he heard a small _oh_ fall from the Bull’s lips, but by then he’d already let him go, and the Bull was standing. One moment suspended in time for another three too fast to fathom - and the Bull was gone, turning once more to say goodbye from the other side of the room before shutting the door behind him.

 

A heavy weight settled on Dorian’s chest that he sincerely recognized as _having_ _ruined things._ He sighed, and made to get ready for the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Whoever was playing to piano was either very drunk, or very much not Orlesian, Dorian thought, as he wandered away from the Winter Palace into the deep green of it’s hedge maze. He had a sneaking suspicion it was Varric, on both accounts. The garden was heavy with the scent of flowers, almost overbearingly so. _Sweetness covering the smell of rot,_ he thought, and was interrupted by the familiar, heavy footfalls behind him.  

 

He smiled, but did not turn, “Truthfully, it is a wonder you ever made it as a spy,” He said, as the Bull caught up with him, “You’d wake an armada at twenty paces, with feet like that,”

 

The other man leered at him, “Been thinking about my feet a lot, ‘Vint?”

 

Dorian wrinkled his nose, both at the words and the nickname, “I endeavour not to,” He stopped in front of a bush of blue hibiscus flowers, “Though I will admit to thinking on - other things,”

 

The Bull moved to crowd against him, but rather than that, he simply plucked a flower from behind his head, and, pushing it behind Dorian’s ear, said, “Oh?”, playing at faux innocence, “You wanna elaborate on that?” His voice has gone strangely soft. His hands were the same, though one only brushed the shell of his ear once, the other not-brushing along the line of his hip.

 

Breathing deeply, or, trying to, Dorian attempted to speak, “I’m sure I would. Later, and in my chambers, and hopefully out of these dreadful suits Josephine has stuffed us into,” He tried to look as alluring and not-flustered as possible.

 

The Bull smiled, but not his usual smile at Dorian’s flirting, and said, “‘Depends. You feel like leaving before dawn again, or are you gonna stick around so I can finally see you with your kohl smudged?”

 

Dorian took the flower from his ear, and said, all too haughtily, “If you’ve had a problem with my past actions, there has been plenty of time between then and now to speak of them,”

 

The Bull held up his hands in defence, “Hey, no problem, big guy. Just wanna know how much breakfast to order,” His voice was still flour-soft, and his one eye displayed worry, not anger, “I also don’t feel much like sleeping with someone ashamed of me, but I know your situation. So take your time but - take it. Don’t keep messing me around. Or yourself. Just - “ He paused, smiling, “Take care of yourself, Dorian,”

 

Dorian, looking away from that one eye and toward the ground, nodded. The Bull, with thumb and forefinger, tilted his chin back up, and kissed him, very softly, on the mouth, before retreating back into the palace.

 

Looking down at flower in his hand, Dorian thought on the fact that he had never liked the smell of hibiscus; but on that night, it was perfect, sickly sweet, all encompassing.

 

* * *

 

 

He could see Krem in the corner of his one eye working up to asking him what was wrong. His nuggalope whinnied softly - did nuggalopes whinny? - and he patted her softly on the neck. Dorian always rode that awful bog unicorn, since he was the only one it let ride it. He pretended he hadn’t brought it round by feeding it bits of rotting meat, meant for the ravens.

 

He sighed, and Krem opened his mouth to speak, so he sighed again.

 

“Chief, I reckon if you tell me why you’re moping now, instead of,” He waved his hand around in approximation of _whenever you’re gonna feel like it,_ “Later, we can get a lot more work done,”

 

“Oh, really?” He said, trying to keep his tone light.

 

Krem nodded sagely, “Really. But I can try and guess, if you’d rather,”

 

“I get the feeling you’re going to anyway,”

 

“Let’s see,” Krem said, lifting one finger to tap at his mouth in mock-thought, “You sat on a chair in the tavern and broke it again,”

 

“No,” He said, “And that chair was broken before I sat on it,”

 

“Hmm,” He rode his hart a little closer, “There wasn’t any milk for breakfast this morning, so you just had to eat dry oats with a spoon,”

 

“No. Also, I would just use water,”

 

“You’re an abomination,” Krem regarded him very closely for a second, “Did something happen with the ‘Vint?”

 

The Bull continued not to look at him. In the corner of his eye, he saw his best friend in the world make a face that read as: _fuck, man._

 

Krem was silent for another few seconds, before he said, “What happened, then?”

 

The Bull tried to shake out the tautness from his shoulders, flexed his fingers, adjusted his bad knee to try and alleviate some of the tightness, and then, “It’s - really not something I should talk about,”

 

Krem made another face that read: _not even to_ me _?!_

 

He sighed again, “It’s very -” He tried to think of the right word - complicated? Terrifying? Heartbreaking? - “It’s just rough,”

 

Krem tipped his head back and groaned so loudly Dalish and Skinner turned in their saddles to see what the fuss was, before turning back to trying to push one another off their horses, laughing. The Bull’s throat ached to shout at them to stop, but he’d said he’d stop mothering them - Krem was looking at him again. He turned to face him, “What?”

 

“Is it,” His voice dropped, “A sex thing?”

 

The Bull rolled his one eye, “No, it is not a sex thing,”

 

Krem sighed, this time, his shoulders rising and falling, “Then I’m all out. If you want me to give advice, you’re going to have to explain. Until then, I am going to ride very fast ahead until you’re worried enough to shout at me,” And then he did, with The Chargers hollering at him to go faster. He was a good rider. Better than The Bull, certainly, and better than Dorian, to whom horse-riding had been a pastime as opposed to a military mandated skill.

 

Damn ‘Vints. Once they got into you, you couldn’t get ‘em out.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was rising icily over the mountains, and spreading anaemic light into the cold room - though it wouldn’t be cold for much longer, with Dorian loudly complaining while he built a fire in the grate. The night before, they’d gotten drunk on wine Dorian had stolen from the Inquisition’s cellars, an action which would soon get him banned from going anywhere near them, and fucked until Dorian had been giggly-tired and The Bull had made him go to sleep. _Made love,_ that’s what Dorian had started saying. It hadn’t struck Bull as strange then, just another addition into Dorian’s arsenal of flowery language. His knee had hurt like nothing he’d known that day, deep in the bone, but he hadn’t said anything.

 

“It’s as if no one in this damned country has ever figured out how to make insulated walls,” Dorian was saying, finally making the fire burst to life, “Honestly. I’d rather be in the Western Approach, and you know how I feel about that place,”

 

“‘Like living in the inside of a merchant’s pocket’, I believe is what you said,”

 

“And I stand by it,” He sauntered back over to the bed, and lay with his head on his folded arms, his bare feet dangling on the floor. The Bull remembered thinking they must’ve been as cold as the rest of him.

 

“There are other ways to stay warm, you know,” He tried for a wry smile, but pain burst once again into his knee, and he knew it came off as a grimace.

 

“I am going to start keeping count,” Dorian said, tone turning fond, and sitting up, “Of how many times you use that line,”

 

“That’d mean counting all the times you complain about the cold, though,” The Bull retorted, closing his eye and leaning back against the headboard.

 

“True. I do so abhor letting others know my flaws,” As he said it, warm hands closed around Bull’s bad knee. Magic-warm, the same magic Dorian had used once in the Hinterlands to heal an arrow-wound Bull had taken in the arm - Dorian wasn’t the best at healing magic, and he still had the gnarled scar on his bicep. Dorian sometimes pressed his thumb to it, as if willing it away, and always looked disappointed when he lifted his hand and it was still there.

 

“You don’t mind,” He said. The Bull opened his eye, and he tilted his head to his hand, “The magic,”

 

The Bull was surprised to find he didn’t, “No. It’s good. Thank you,” He said, and then fell asleep. When he woke, Dorian was asleep, too, halfway down the bed with his nose pressed to the Bull’s thigh. Bull reached down and stroked his hair, and found his knee didn’t hurt at all - for now, at least. Dorian certainly was a sweet respite from the world - for now, at least, he reminded himself. Soon, he would have to get up and face it. In the moment, he’d just wanted to stay.

 

* * *

 

 

The worst thing about the whole situation so far is that he couldn’t seem to get any work done.

 

Of course, he’d complained about that at the beginning, as well - evenings which might have been spent reading or theorising on some issue or another, spent with the Bull, afternoons which may have been spent training, spent with the Bull.

 

It went both ways. Bull spent less time amongst the Chargers, though Dorian spent more time with them. They both retired earlier, stayed up later, got altogether less work done, and were, of course, happier than they had been. Or so Dorian had thought. Perhaps the whole thing hadn’t been half as intense as he’d assumed it was. Feeling something within yourself was one thing, but trying to guess what another was feeling - a different task entirely. Bull, in particular, had always been hard to read.

 

It had been a month since what Dorian had begun referring to as The End. There had been no word from the Bull or his Chargers in that time, though that wouldn’t usually have been strange. They went out on many jobs which took them away from Skyhold for extended periods of time. If it were Dorian away, he certainly wouldn’t have sent word. He would have been thinking of him though. _Maker,_ he would’ve been thinking of him.

 

The thought that the Bull was not thinking of him in that moment struck him through to the core. _What if I am sitting here agonizing over all this, and he is laughing about it with his men,_ he thought, _Or worse, not thinking of it at all._

 

He stood, pushing his papers away. Trying to work was no use. It hadn’t been any use for a month, but there was nothing else to be done with the Bull there. _There will likely be nothing else to do once he has returned,_ he thought, and grumbled his way down to the tavern, which had become empty and quiet without the Chargers.

 

“Dorian!”

 

Upon turning, he saw the Inquisitor exiting the war chambers, followed closely by Josephine, who seemed always at her side, these days. He dragged up a smile from somewhere deep within himself, “Inquisitor! How might I be of service?”

 

“We’ve need to go to the Hissing Wastes. The force is too big for the Chargers to handle on their own, and apparently there might be some important information, or something,” She said, gesturing wildly, as was her want, “Since it’s Venatori, I figured you’d want to come,”

 

He sighed inwardly. Going would mean seeing the Bull - but also, going would mean seeing the Bull, and perhaps they could finally talk this whole thing into the ground where it belonged. With the option in front of him, he couldn’t let it hang in the air any longer, “Alright. When will we be going?”

 

Cadash smiled, relieved, “This afternoon, if you’re up for it. We’ll bring Blackwall and Sera, as well, if you could find them, and pack for a fight,” She nodded and turned away, leaving no questions - however nervous she could be of the whole Inquisitor thing, she did it remarkably well.

  
Heading back to his room, Dorian thought: _how to fuck am I supposed to go about doing this?_

 


	2. oh water, are you coming to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If this is to be over," The Bull thought, "Then let it truly be."

**_Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. / There is no other version of this story._ ** **\- Richard Siken, excerpt of** **_The Worm King’s Lullaby_ **

 

The Hissing Wastes were dry and unending, as always. The grating melody of sand on sand on sand rang through every inch of the place, and it seemed to always be dark, even with the moon shining, giant, forever.

 

So the Bull’s melancholy seemed to be. Krem’s attempts to cheer him slid off him like he was made of glass. His head wasn’t in the right place for this mission. He should’ve called it off and talked to Dorian that day; he should never have slept with Dorian in the first place. He should’ve called the whole thing off months ago, before it ever got this far.

 

He should never have let Dorian believe he was half as worthy of him as he wanted to be.

 

A horn was blown somewhere in the distance. The Inquisitor would arrive soon, with her party in tow, and they could really get around to killing some Venatori. The Bull stood too quickly, his knee twinging unpleasantly, and made his way toward his tent, to wash up before they were here. You could never get the dust off of you, in the desert, like on Seheron, but it’d do him good to be cool for a moment.

 

Inside, Krem was wrapping new leather around the handle of his maul, sitting cross legged on his bedroll. He spared the Bull a look, and then went back to his work, “The boss is on her way, then?”

 

“Yeah,” He replied, splashing water on his face from the bowl next to his bedroll, “Should be here in a quarter of an hour or so,”

 

Krem was looking at him again, wrapping his handle blindly, “Do you think,” He began, and the Bull closed his eye to what he knew was coming, “That Dorian will be with her?”

 

He sighed, and opened his eye again, “I don’t think he’d have agreed to come. And I doubt she’s too happy with me,” He looked down to the floor, trying hard not to think about how terrifying Cadash’s disappointed face was, especially in regards to Dorian, “But he hates it here. He didn’t want to come in the first place, before -” He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, “What happened,”

 

Krem laid his maul to the side, and shuffled closer, putting an arm companionably around his shoulders, before saying, “You can tell me now, or I can ask Dorian when we’re back at Skyhold,” He then attempted to put him in a headlock, and ended up on the floor for his troubles.

 

“Don’t,” The Bull said, looking down on him, “You’ll upset him,”

 

“Well, then,” Krem replied, smirking, “I suppose you’ll have to do it. For the sake of the altus’ feelings, of course,”

 

The Bull sighed again, this time resigned to his fate. He straightened the cloth in the bowl next to him, and spoke: “Dorian told me he loved me,” Krem’s eyes went comically wide, and he sat up on his elbows, “Just before we left Skyhold,”

 

“Oh,” Krem said, scratching at the back of his neck, “And? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to say it back?” He was smiling again. This was a game of feelings to him. Was that what it was like, for people outside the Qun? You felt things and acted on them? There was no doubt those feelings were wrong or dangerous? You knew exactly what you felt when you felt it, and expected everyone else to go along with it? He’d gotten pretty used to the way people were here, but even now that struck him as strange - or, not strange, just - foreign. The way the other people lived.

 

He supposed, now, he was the other people, “Of course not, I - I get that I’m Tal-Vashoth now, but I don’t know if I can -” He cut himself off and scrubbed a hand over his face, “I don’t even know if I can manage the Chargers. I don’t even know if I can - still be a friend to anyone. I don’t know if I’m gonna go crazy any second, how can I fall in love with someone? How do I even know if I’m capable of it, with the Qun?”

 

He saw Krem barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes, “It’s not about - capable. It’s about if you do or not,” He sat up properly, looking the Bull in the eyes, “It’s about if you want to. And if you should,” He put his hand up to stop the Bull from speaking again, “And you should, because you’re the kindest man I know, you great lug. You’ve no right to stop yourself from giving that to anyone,” He sighed, and sidled back over the the other man, leaning his head on his shoulder for a second, before punching him very hard in the ribs.

 

“Ow!” The Bull cried, though truly he’d barely felt it. Years of scars cushioned the blow somewhat, as well as the fact that Krem could break his knuckles trying to actually bruise him there, “What was that for?”

 

“For being such a massive bugger about all this!” He said, “‘Could’ve been done with the whole thing the day we got here, you shit,”

 

Outside, another horn was blown.

 

* * *

 

Adamant that night had been hell, and the Bull swore he’d gotten away from there the day he’d left Seheron’s shores. Demon’s at every turn, mind-addled Wardens, and, to top it all, the Inquisitor being sucked into the Fade, only to be spat out again. He cursed and thanked to whatever deity, whatever anything - the Maker, the Stone, Mythal, Koslun, anyone - that he hadn’t been with her.

 

For now, the battlefield was quiet. The Chargers were either sleeping, or recovering from some injury - Krem’s foot had been broken after a Warden had pushed a brick on it from above, and Skinner was not going to let him forget it for some time - though some few were helping the healers, Stitches included. Krem had refused to sleep until he’d been force fed a sleeping-draught, and was passed out by the fire. The Bull was planning on moving him when he saw Dorian making his way toward their camp. He, too, looked bone tired, but carried on, clearly looking for more people in need of healing.

 

“I thought you’d be with the Inquisitor by now,” Dorian, had also been fighting on the ground - the Bull had seen him when Cullen had passed around the news, terror struck through with worry, to the core, and the look of relief he’d worn when they’d known she’d returned.

 

“She has requested some alone time,” His tone was clipped, but not toward the Bull, and that was a switch, so early on - Dorian had pretty much always been clipped towards him, “And I thought I’d come see if anyone needed anything doing,” He eyed Krem, whose chin was now on his chest, “He’s alright?”  
  
“Fine,” The Bull said, “His foot’ll be tender for a few days, but I really think it’s his pride that’s hurt,” Dorian barked a laugh, and several Chargers turned to look, startled, and Dorian bent his head, still smiling.

 

“I rather think I need to go to bed,” He made to turn away, “If I’m laughing at your jokes, I really must be sleep deprived,” His voice had lost its hardness.

 

The Bull saw his knuckles on his right hand were bandaged, still bleeding, and wanting to keep him a moment longer, he said, “What’d you do?”  
  
Dorian hummed, and looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers, “I ran out of lyrium potions, so I tried to punch a Grey Warden and missed. I, uh -” He cleared his throat, “I hit a wall. It seems Cremisius is not the only one coming away with damaged pride on this night,”

 

The Bull looked up at him from his place on the floor, and reached his hand out to catch Dorian’s injured one. He saw Dorian’s breath hitch for a moment, and then he said, “Stay with me, Dorian,”

 

“I am not sleeping with you on a battlefield,” Dorian snapped, “I am certainly not sleeping with you on _this_ battlefield,”

 

“Don’t sleep with me, then,” He said, “Just stay with me,” Dorian hesitated for a moment, and then sat down next to him on the ground.

 

“I don’t suppose I actually would have slept at all tonight, anyway,” He grumbled, and then settled himself next to the Bull, a pleasant, constant weight against him. He had desert dust in his hair, and at the nape of his neck. The Bull brushed some of it away with his thumb, and Dorian turned his head to look at him. The firelight did strange and wonderful things to his eyes, making them darker than they were. He was looking at him from under his eyelids, the way people do when they want to kiss you, and before he could turn away again, the Bull did.

 

Dorian Pavus kissed him back as gently as he’d expected. He brushed one hand against the scars stretching from the Bull’s eye, and then just as quickly dropped his hand back against his thigh.

 

“I can’t be bothered running from that tonight,” He said, keeping his tone light, but turning his face away.

 

“So stay,” The Iron Bull said back to him, with one hand still at his nape.

 

Dorian looked at him again, eyes clear this time, and said, “I think I will,”

 

* * *

 

He could feel dust gathering at the back of his throat. _Maker,_ did he hate this place.

 

He’d complained the whole way, mostly to distract himself for whatever was incoming - a fight, or something else. His back hurt from riding. His hands were starting to crack from the dry air, and all his clothes were covered in sand. And he did not know what the Bull was going to say to him when he saw him.

 

Cadash could tell, of course, that something had been bothering him, but hadn’t needled him about it. _Bless the woman,_ he thought. He was grateful for her more stoic qualities on many occasions, and this was one of them. He wanted to work through the whole thing before telling anyone about it, even her.

 

Camp was dark and quiet when they arrived, save for some few Inquisition soldiers who helped them unpack. It surprised Dorian; the Chargers were usually so rowdy.

 

“Boss!” Came a call, to the left of them. He turned to look, passing his mount to one of the men, and saw the massive architecture of the Bull coming toward them. Cadash reached him first, and they exchanged quiet words, seeming to decide not to do anything drastic until the morning. She turned her head toward Dorian, and smiled, widening her eyes in some approximation of _go get him!_ before retreating to her tent, which she was sharing with Sera. He groaned, inwardly; that meant he was sharing with Blackwall.

 

The Bull hadn’t moved from his place. Instead, he spoke: “Hey,” He said it as if he was releasing a long-held breath.

 

“Yes,” Dorian said, brushing dust off of his trousers, “Hello,”   
  
They stood in awkward quiet for a few moments, before the Bull stepped forward and said, “Look, about what happened -”

 

“Not here,” Dorian hissed, “Let’s find somewhere quiet,” _Quiet,_ he thought, _this whole damned place is too quiet._

 

The Bull found an empty spot, a good few paces from any tents or soldiers, with one brazier burning lonely away in the sand. They were a beacon to anyone who wished to attack them, though few would, so openly. _Only Venatori,_ thought Dorian, _Or the Templars. Both the beasts we have come here to put down._

 

They were still standing with too much space between them. In all the time they’d been apart, Dorian had wondered what it would be like, to be near him but not close enough, not to feel any warmth from him, or kiss him - any hundreds of things they did when they were together, the things that had become commonplace. His worries were nothing when compared to the reality of it.

 

“What happened,” The Bull said, again, “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. You didn’t deserve that,”

 

Dorian had to admit he was shocked at that. He had not been expecting an apology, “But,” The Bull continued, and Dorian thought _oh no_ , “I don’t know if I can - do that. I don’t know if I can give you what you need,” He had the decency to look pained by his own words.

 

They simply incensed Dorian. Spluttering, he tried to come up with some answer, “What - what could that possibly even _mean?_ ” He spun around with his back to the Bull, and then spun back again, “You are - how many _months_ of this, and you don’t even know if you _can?!_ That’s bullshit!” He could feel tears stinging at his eyes, and he tried desperately not to let them fall, “There is no _can_ or _can’t._ It’s _will_ or _won’t,_ and you won’t, clearly,”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” The Bull sounded angry, frustrated, as if Dorian had misunderstood him so _greatly_ he could barely fathom another explanation, “I mean - I’m still figuring all this out. And I shouldn’t have kept on - I shouldn’t have let this happen, Dorian, that’s on me,”

 

_“‘Shouldn’t have let this happen’,”_ Dorian scoffed, “As if you had the will enough to stop it,” He brought a hand up and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to will this dust out of them, “You’re blaming all this on going Tal-Vashoth? On thinking you’re going to go mad? You’re not afraid of going mad, Bull, you’re afraid of getting hurt,”

 

“You don’t understand,” The Bull shot back, “You’ve _never_ understood this,”

 

_“I_ haven’t understood?” Dorian laughed bitterly, “I didn’t understand. Alright. The next time I have a feeling I think Koslun might’ve put a ban on, I’ll keep it away from you, since this is clearly giving you so much _grief,”_ He made to walk away, to pass outside of the light of the single brazier and leave the Bull alone.  

 

“I don’t know what you want!” The Bull shouted, and then lowered his voice, gained control of himself once again, “I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know what you want me to do,”  
  
“What _I_ want?” Dorian said, “I want to be with a man I love, one who loves me. I want to marry him and live with him and love him, and I want him to want all those things too. I thought, perhaps, you could be that man, but if I was mistaken -“ he stopped and swallowed. His throat clicked, dry again from the general atmosphere, as well as other things, “If I was mistaken, please allow me to apologise.” This time, he did walk away.

 

* * *

 

The nights after the Bull went Tal-Vashoth did not seem to be any different from the nights previous to the event; they fucked, often, they drank together, and ate, together, occasionally they trained together. But the Bull’s hands were gentler than they had been before, as if he was afraid he would break anything he touched, Dorian most of all.

 

He spoke out one night, and said, “You do not have to treat me as if I were made of porcelain,” He smirked at the other man, whose hands were planted on his hips, “Though the concern is touching,”

 

He had been surprised when the Bull had lowered his massive head to put it against Dorian’s stomach, but had put a gentle hand to the back of his skull anyway, and the Bull had sighed, “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been - out of it,”

 

“It’s alright,” Dorian had said, “I understand,”

 

“I’m glad you do,” The Bull mumbled, warm against his bare skin, “I’m glad someone does,” And then Dorian had dragged him up to kiss him, and they’d fucked like any other night. And after that things seemed to be better.

 

* * *

 

If the Iron Bull could be sure about one thing, it was that he _hated_ the desert, and everything it stood for.

 

They’d been walking through the desert for most of the day, and the chill was beginning to set in. Cadash had called for them to pack up camp, and the Chargers set to work while Cadash and her party watered their horses. Blackwall attempted to make conversation with the Bull and was left disappointed for his efforts. He felt bad - Blackwall was not a man to strike up random conversation - but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Dorian himself was stony-faced, fighting with a dangerous focus and riding that damn bog unicorn too hard in the sand. He hadn’t changed from the night before, and his kohl was smudged. The Bull had wanted very badly to go up to him and speak to him, perhaps to try and explain again, when he’d seen him that morning, but had let him be. _If this is to be over,_ he thought, _let it truly be._

 

Cadash mounted her horse - an Amaranthine Charger aptly named Blackberry - and called for them to move out. The Chargers travelled on foot, the Bull not included, and soon night was well and truly over them. The moon was big enough to cast light to ride by. They were headed toward a campfire, somewhere up in the mountains.

 

They never reached it.

 

The ambush was fast and almost silent. As far as he could tell, they had no archers, which gave them an advantage - Sera had leapt from her horse was clambered onto a rock, laying down heavy cover fire. Dorian put up an actual _wall_ of fire, so none of their attackers could run and alert people further ahead, and Cadash was already somewhere across the field with her dagger in some poor bastard’s throat by the time the Bull had jumped down off his nuggalope and drawn his axe.

 

A big asshole with a shield had Blackwall cornered up ahead. Grim was behind him, trying to poke a hole in his armour with his shortsword, so the Bull made his way toward them - and was knocked down to the ground with a thunderous _bang!_ as a made sent a fireball his way.

 

_Damn mages,_ he thought, getting back to his feet. He felt blood trickle down his neck from his ear, and shook his head to clear the ringing from it. He charged at the mage, but she put up a barrier, so his hits bounced right off her. He roared, and tried to bring his axe down on her head, but she blew him back off his feet.

 

She rounded on him, dragging the silver blade on the end of her staff on the ground, and said, “I think this,” She lifted it, moonlight glinting off of it in a strange parabola, “Will look very nice buried in your skull,” And then she went to strike him.

 

Before the blade could even scratch him, a lightning strike threw the mage backwards, connecting her with the empty husk of what had once been a tree, which crumbled under her.

 

Dorian came into his eye line. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and panting slightly, bringing a small bottle of lyrium to his lips and swigging it. He threw it to the ground, and summoned another bolt of lightning to bring down upon the other mage - she flinched for a few seconds, and then sagged, blood dripping from her nose.

 

“Tevinters, honestly,” Dorian said, turning toward the Bull “Always bloviating,” He reached out a hand, which the Bull took - Dorian’s hands were cracked and dusty, calloused on the palms from fighting and training with a staff, and the polish on his nails were chipped, revealing some length of the natural, brown colour that lived underneath it. They made the Bull’s heart skip in his chest.

 

“I’m glad they do,” He managed to sputter out, “I’d be more dead than I’d like, otherwise,”

 

Dorian gave him a nod, and finally let go of his hand. Off behind them, he heard Sera stage whisper to Blackwall, “Should we give them some privacy?”

 

“Let’s go,” Cadash announced, “I don’t think I can take much more of this tonight,”

 

They made camp on the ridge the Venatori had been camping on. All their gear was still there, all good stuff, and Krem managed to find out a bottle of ‘Vint wine, much to the delight of the Chargers.

 

He was washing himself in an oasis a far enough away from camp to be peaceful when Dorian found him again.

 

“Hey,” The Bull said, “Thank you. For earlier,”

 

“Don’t think of it,” Dorian replied, planting himself on a rock at the edge of the water, “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, surely,” He tugged the lining of his robe straight, and then continued, “I have been thinking. About what you said last night,” His voice was strangely quiet, subdued, for Dorian, as if every word were measured and thought of, “I understand. Why you wouldn’t want to rush into anything. And why you’d want to be - certain. But surely, you -” He stopped himself, choked. He breathed deeply and said again, “You can understand why I was upset. I have - so rarely thought there was any chance of happiness in anything like this. And i have found great happiness,” He looked the Bull in the eye, his own eyes wet but bright, true, “In you, Bull,”

 

He walked toward him until he stood before the rock Dorian was perched on, but Dorian continued on, “So please,” He sucked in a wet breath, “Don’t make this be finished. I don’t think I could bear it, Bull -”

 

“Hush, Dorian,” The Bull reached out and held his arms tightly, “I want this. I want you,”

 

Dorian folded into his chest and the Bull kissed his crown, once, before pulling him up and saying, “I want to try. Because, Dorian, there’s never been anyone like you, I - well,” He looked at the moon, impossibly big and bright and lighting Dorian up like his own special sort of magic, “Well, I suppose the only word is love,”

 

Dorian reached up, and kissed him on the mouth, and when he pulled away he couldn’t stop crying or smiling. The Bull imagined he looked a similar state. The whole world was bright and spectacular. Everything was lit up in a state of great glory. He looked at the stars - but this man was more than them, even. Together, he was sure, there would be such a shining spectacle no one in the world would be able to look upon them.

 

* * *

 

He found himself, once again, in the Iron Bull’s bed.

 

The fire crackled slowly away in the hearth, and the whole room smelled strongly of the spiced wine they’d drank earlier. The mission in the Hissing Wastes had been a resounding success all around. In the Venatori-killing sense, and, of course, the sense that was most important to him.

 

The Iron Bull sat on the edge of his own bed, scuffing the floor with his toes, like a child being reprimanded, “It shouldn’t be any different,” He said, “But it is. Talking to you,”

 

“In a good way?” Dorian asked, placing his cold foot in the warm small of the Bull’s back. The Bull flinched from his icy toes, and then took his ankle and placed his foot in his lap.

 

“Yes,” He said, softly, his one eye betraying whatever affection he felt, “In a good way,” There was something intensely gratifying, and overwhelming, about knowing the Bull could hide anything he wanted from him, and chose not to. He had been a very good spy, but he was a better man.

 

“I hope you have not felt too overwhelmed by this whole thing,” Dorian said, looking at the patched where there had once been a hole in the ceiling. The Bull had recruited Krem and Cole to help fix it after Dorian had complained about being cold too many times, though he couldn’t imagine that Cole had been much help, “I hope I haven’t overwhelmed you,”

 

“You,” The Bull said, still smiling, and with a glint in his eye, “Are always overwhelming,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I hope you enjoyed, I've really enjoyed writing it! And I'd like to thank my gf [Link text](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel) for beta-ing! She's been fantastic!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I hope you enjoyed this fic, and please feel free to leave a comment! This is probably going to be 2 parts, and I'll try and post the second very soon <3 thank you for reading! 
> 
> title is from Last Night As I Was Sleeping, by Antonio Machado!


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